


Mission's Rules

by theZanyArthropleura



Series: WIPmas [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic (Video Games)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Aromantic Mission Vao, I am morally ambiguous and that means I can be kind to whomever the fuck I want, Life Day (Star Wars), Multi, Nonbinary Revan, OC-centric, Reconciliation, awkward conversations at a space lesbian bar, but is needed, other ships implied but not stated, the same ones in the series, this one hurts weird
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:21:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28301529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theZanyArthropleura/pseuds/theZanyArthropleura
Summary: WIPmas: a self-imposed challenge to write a holiday-themed special for as many of my WIPs as I can, regardless of how much is complete or whether any of it is posted at all.Set in theShattered Hearts AU, about a year after the time jump or around, potentially, the 8th-12th work in the series.
Relationships: Mission Vao & Original Female Character(s), Original Female Character(s) & Original Female Character(s)
Series: WIPmas [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2072982





	Mission's Rules

**Author's Note:**

> This one also has [art](https://thezanyarthropleura.tumblr.com/post/638436941233340416/nescia-and-her-edgelord-sister-dessera-just).

Mission Vao’s first rule of Life Day was _no Life Day music or decorations until one month in advance of the day itself_ , and Nescia Tavix had no problem picturing exactly what kind of circumstances might have prompted the list’s initial inception.

The pale-rose-skinned Zabrak pilot had rolled her eyes, and might have even giggled just a bit, when she’d first read that one. She’d known right away, of course, how furious Oze would be. The goggle-wearing Neimoidian had become _infamous_ in their small plateau-side trading post, for how loud and obnoxious would be the audio-based holiday cheer being blasted from the main office of Ibri’s ferry service, for nearly a full quarter of each planetary cycle.

It was with a roaring vengeance, that Oze Adoh set the loudspeaker volume on its highest setting, exactly one month prior to lifeday with not the fraction of a second’s delay.

The most interesting discovery as a result, was that Mission and the rest of the _Ebon Hawk_ crew already knew the lyrics to roughly eighty percent of the Life Day songs. Meaning, eighty percent of the Life Day songs were at least four thousand years old.

That was yet another thing Nescia was still trying to wrap her head around – that antique tystel she’d complimented Mission on, wasn’t an antique at all, it had just jumped ahead four millennia along with its owner. How much of the present state of the rebellion, and of Nescia’s own life in the past year had been set in motion by that single event?

  


* * *

  


_“You know Ibri,” Oze shrugged, light playing in the lenses of his goggles as he shook his head. “He’ll turn up in the end, just give it time.”_

_“I’d at least like to hear from him once in a while.”_

_“He probably can’t risk it. He says it’s a secret mission, Ness.”_

_She turned out of sight of the window and leant fully back against the carved stone, the two voices continuing to filter up from below her doing nothing to help her rising state of sheer panic._

_No, there… there was still time. Just back down the hall, turn left to the rising stairwell, bypass the crowded areas via the maintenance overhang and make a beeline for her Headhunter’s hangar._

_Her feet followed her thoughts only moments after, tears crossing mauve diagonals and running down daggers of neon green. Her left elbow stung from being thrust backward against the stone wall to keep her moving while she stumbled._

_She almost looked back, but she didn’t._

  


* * *

  


Mission’s second rule of Life Day was _no appropriating Life Day from the Wookiees! Ask Big Z if it’s okay first_ , which turned out to be a functionally irrelevant rule, since Zaalbar was a bit of a ways from what you would consider a Kashyyyk traditionalist. He’d approve almost anything as long as its inclusion was meaningful to someone from his adopted family, even aspects of celebration from the more commercialized side of the holiday.

Nescia did not speak Shyriiwook, but Mission had promised ninety-five percent accurate translation. After examining the holodisc, Zaalbar’s only requirement was he be allowed to watch the movie, to ‘confirm its authenticity.’

Practically, it seemed more of an excuse for himself and Mission to throw a movie night – complete with at least seven different types of protato-based snacks – but Nescia was privately thankful for the trial run, a chance to remind herself of and properly prepare for any scenes that, given recent events and revelations, posed the chance of making things awkward.

The other two were enjoyable company, at any rate, and from the way Mission’s eyes lit up, then _stayed_ lit up for the entire duration of the film, it was clear the young, sky-blue Twi’lek had both deduced and strongly approved of Nescia’s intentions.

  


* * *

  


_“Anyway,” Mission continued, activating the projector disk. “That pilot? They said she went missing the same day your group showed up on base for training, it’s probably just a coincidence but…”_

_Oze’s expression was reflective, but uncertain as he narrow-eyed the image, but Nescia… something about Nescia’s face twisted at Mission like a chill, the zabrak’s words almost accusing when they broke the tense silence._

_“Why do you have a picture of my dead sister?”_

  


* * *

  


Mission’s third rule of Life Day was the classic but never superfluous, _family is who you choose_ , and for Nescia, that hit different this year.

In Mission’s case, the rule likely referred to Griff: the brother that was now long dead, but to Mission, had already sort of been even when they’d had a century in common. Nescia was aware of only the vaguest of details, but she knew where Mission now stood on the matter – she would have forgiven her brother completely, if he’d only been able to _stop_.

This year, _because_ of Mission, it was Nescia’s sister that had now returned from the not-quite-dead, and though related by blood, even Dessera had felt like a choice.

The longer Nescia spent here, with the _Hawk_ ’s crew and Ahsoka’s rebel cell, the more it felt like everyone around her had their own version of _I wish you’d just talked to me_. She didn’t know how she felt about that, because in her own case, she genuinely didn’t know whether she would have _listened_. If Dessera had told her the truth, that day before the crash… Nescia could only imagine what horrid things she might have said or done. She hadn’t been ready to hear it.

In a lot of ways, she _still_ wasn’t ready to hear it.

But Dessera was family. Family she’d thought she’d lost, but had found again. The rest of it, they’d just have to figure out a way to work through.

  


* * *

  


_“I mean, yeah, I knew her, but not well. I don’t think anyone did. I uh… asked her to drinks once. Okay, maybe it was four times. She turned me down, which… yeah, I can see it.”_

_Nescia was rolling her eyes, and Mission joined her. “The point?”_

_The Human put up his hands. “Okay, okay! Well, after that, we made it a group thing, like… a celebration? She went once. I know what you’ve probably been thinking, the way people talk about her. We… we get plenty of people here who aren’t interested in making friends. Did something so horrible in the war, they just want to… throw themselves at the Empire until their luck runs out. Dessera… she wasn’t like that. She… she tried, and I think part of her really wanted to start over. There was just… another part of her, that kept her from believing she deserved it.”_

  


* * *

  


Mission’s fourth rule of Life Day was _just because a party takes place during the month of Life Day, does not automatically make it a Life Day party_. Nescia had to wonder just how frequently parties had occurred on the _Ebon Hawk_ , for that to have been a rule, but as chances had it, even now it didn’t turn out to be so irrelevant a rule after all.

She didn’t know much about the pale green, headphone-wearing Twi’lek, Yndura, only that she was probably the most strictly civilian of anyone in the inner circles of this particular corner of the rebellion, and that she’d been close with Mission for a while now. She was around the right age, which made it impossible to tell whether she was one of Mission’s friends, or one of Mission’s _friends_ , but in either case, quite a few members of the various crews had been invited to the grand opening of a joint venture between Yndura herself and her new business partners, one of which Nescia recognized as a former waitress from Dex’s.

On paper, it was a bar, though it functioned more broadly as a ‘restaurant and general social space, tailored to a historically underserved clientele.’ Mission was already at the table, along with Ahsoka, Barriss, Ventress, Juhani, and Revan, the latter of which was wearing their mask and cloak over a white-text-on-black T-shirt that read _yes, I break the theme of the table, deal with it_. Nescia would also learn later that Aayla and Bly had politely declined to attend, despite having an open, honorary invitation that no one was quite sure how they’d ended up with, except that it had been unanimous.

Dessera blinked, and looked suddenly betrayed and horrified on arrival, because no, Nescia _hadn’t_ told her sister where they were going tonight, and why should she?

“We’ve been _over_ this,” Dess insisted, shaking her head. “I _don’t count_.”

“ _Yes you do_ ,” Ness shot back with a smile, dragging her reluctant sister along by the wrist as they broke through the crowd. “Now get in here!”

Dess didn’t stay reluctant for long, especially when Mission nearly _leapt_ from her chair to embrace the wayward Tavix sister in a tight hug. The others at the table had looks of understanding, but not _too much_ understanding. In their eyes, Nescia could see Mission had been truthful; they were still the only three that knew the full story.

It wasn’t _entirely_ a reassuring thought. Dess really should’ve had more people she could be close to without so much reservation. The way so many of the others blindly trusted Mission’s judgement wasn’t always enough.

The two Zabrak sat down at the table, looking so different despite their shared pale rose skin-tone and mauve-colored tattoo lines. Nescia’s had always curved like vines, while Dessera’s angled almost like circuits – they’d matched, but each had their own flair.

Now, though, every design on Dessera’s body was underlined in a neon green color, like a shadow on the lower or outer edge of each line. In some places, she’d added narrow, vertical points striking downward as a continuation of the green, like the three she bore on each side of her face, beneath the diagonal lines across her cheeks. They looked more like icicles or daggers, but they’d been meant as dripping venom, as if the red lines were cuts through her skin to her blood beneath, and the green was the poison leaking out of it.

She was going to keep them, she’d said. It didn’t feel right to her, to face the galaxy without them, her forever apology for daring to exist at all. Nescia hoped one day, they could be a mark of pride instead, a statement of life _without_ apology, but she couldn’t really hold out hope for that. She still wondered whether she was the first person in the whole galaxy to ever think anything of the sort, about someone like her sister.

Mission was in the middle of recalling a time with Barriss and Juhani, when a Falleen criminal on Ord Mantell had tried to escape by using his pheromones to seduce the three of them. They’d watched the man cartoonishly stretch and twist his voice for nearly a full minute before they’d figured out what he’d been attempting, and before he’d figured out why it hadn’t worked in the slightest. Barriss quietly added that the experience had been what finally confirmed for her that she couldn’t be attracted to men, prompting several eagerly-offered and meekly-accepted high-fives of solidarity from a few of those around the table, Nescia included.

After a few drinks, Nescia was the one who smirked deviously, recounting how obviously smitten Mission had been with her when they’d first met, unable to keep her curious eyes off the pilot’s tattoos. The blue-skinned Twi’lek blushed purple, though you might not have seen it from the way she hid her head in her hands. Yndura chose that moment to step over to the table, making a show of being particularly interested in the story, an event that both gave weight to an earlier question of Nescia’s and made Mission blush even harder.

Barriss, like Mission and Ahsoka, didn’t drink at all, but eventually the Mirialan was somehow comfortable enough to bring up the time she’d accidentally made out with Mission while dreaming about Ahsoka, a statement which had Ventress fully on the floor within seconds.

From the light in the Cathar’s eyes, the ease of her laugh, it was obvious how much it meant to Juhani that she could be here, now, in a time and place where such stories could be shared openly. In the waning moments of departing crowds as the night drew on, she confessed the one-time affection she’d held for a fellow Jedi from her enclave. Belaya, a name forgotten by time, remembered now only by those at this table.

Perhaps, if Dessera could have made her own four-thousand-year leap ahead, her story might have also been one she could share to the tune of laughs and smiles. Here, she could say nothing, only listen. But she had Nescia’s hand in hers, when she let it be, and every single passing glance from Mission to tell her it was alright, and that it was enough.

If the night had begun with the spilling of confessions, it ended with the spilling of hearts, an open display of emotion that, on participation numbers alone, could thus be only partially blamed on alcohol. It seemed that nearly _everyone_ had a story of gratitude to tell about Mission, whether or not they chose to bring it forth – even the Human woman who’d worked at Dex’s, who, up close, had short brown hair and a hidden, but visible skin graft, being of an unnaturally paler shade above a neat line that rounded her head at the level of her nose.

Some, Mission had brought back from the brink of desperation. For others, she’d simply been kind, when hope of such had been lost. To yet others, she’d offered the momentary gift of her warmth and affection – a night’s company in the eyes of the cynical, but something far more meaningful in truth, whether or not the former assumption held any accuracy as well. For one who existed outside the concept of romantic love entirely, it was never a thing to be misunderstood, that Mission Vao truly had the biggest heart of all.

  


* * *

  


_For just a moment, Dessera’s eyes look startled, perhaps impressed, but it didn’t last. “That’s fortunate for them, but it won’t help you here.”_

_Mission threw her arms down in a huff, sure she was putting off actual steam. “SERIOUSLY!?”_

_Dessera sighed, her tone softening if her eyes didn’t. “You have a good heart, Mission. All of those friends are lucky to have you. Lucky for your patience, your acceptance, your forgiveness…” Dessera shook her head. “…but it’s not going to work out this time. Maybe you can’t imagine it, but even people like you have your limits. You need to give this up, and leave me be. Don’t let my truth turn you into someone cruel.”_

_“It won’t!” Mission insisted, her seething scowl approaching actual offense. “You can’t possibly hear everything I just said and think my word is worth nothing?”_

_Dessera was sad and solemn in her certainty. “There is no acceptance of what I am, not even from you.”_

  


* * *

  


Mission’s fifth rule of Life Day was _NO GIFT-GIVING ON LIFE DAY_ , which made more sense once Nescia had had the Twi’lek explain it for her. The point was that gifts should be given throughout the year, out of a significance more genuine than obligation, and that they should be received without the pressure of expectation and associated potential for disappointment.

Conferring further, it turned out that the day _before_ Life Day was still acceptable, but only for what Mission called ‘half-presents.’

And so, on Life Day eve, Nescia found herself making a steady pace through the nighttime-yellow-lit corridor of a ship. She could never remember what class of ship it was, as beneath the porous surface, in the sunken world-ocean of Utapau, nearly a hundred rebel ships were chained together as modular components of a hidden city, able to relocate in an emergency only to later regroup below a different sinkhole.

The location of Dessera’s room, though, _that_ she’d memorized. It wasn’t long before she found herself just outside the doorway, hesitating over a knock, to the uproariously building, overhead instrumental medley of a Life Day song that was far more dramatic than it had any right to be.

Breathing slowly, steeling herself with determination, she struck the metal three times.

Because Mission’s most important rule had nothing to do with Life Day. It _applied_ on Life Day, certainly, but only because it applied _every_ day. One single rule, that meant Nescia Tavix now had faith in any rule Mission Vao had ever written down – even five, relatively innocuous, holiday-related ones Oze might now never forgive her for insisting they adopt.

Simply, the rule was: _live in the present_ , which, were it to be interpreted literally and from a modern perspective, was one rule Mission Vao had succeeded in following against _astronomical_ odds.

But in a more specific, real sense, the rule was closer to: _believe in who people are; have faith in others by your own judgement, not by anyone else’s_.

Mission believed in _people_ , as individuals, and believed in whether she could trust them to do the right thing, in the present moment. Anything not directly relevant to that simply didn’t factor in, even qualities or past actions others would consider abhorrent.

Some might have thought it naïve, or unjust, but now Nescia only wondered: what did it say of _compassion_ , that it had taken the daughter of a former Sith lord, the friend of an ex mad bomber, to look into her sister’s eyes and see a kind heart? To see the truth of the chasm now stretching between them, and believe a bridge could still be built back across it?

  


* * *

  


_“Just… kriffing… ENOUGH already!”_

_Mission breathed, again and again, but it failed to calm her._

_“I know you’re scared! I get it, everyone is when you can’t know for sure, but there is no measure of bad and worse here! I forgave you, accepted you, the moment I heard your voice, because I don’t believe in the kinds of things that do this to someone! I believe in people, people I trust, people I know in my heart are good, and Dessera? I. Believe. In you. No matter who you are, what horrible things you’ve done, any reason you could possibly have or even if you just don’t have any reason at all! Maybe you just… wanted some space! You don’t owe yourself to anyone, not even family! Not even family that actually acts like family! You can just want to live a life on your own, without your sister, and it doesn’t mean you didn’t love her enough!”_

_There was quiet, but no silence. The moment of stillness when sound had been called upon for the last time, and had simply yet to give its inevitable reply._

_With her defiance too beaten, too bereft of fangs for it to have been a hiss, Dessera sighed, narrow-eyed but broken, her arms crossed and so weakly, emptily shuddering around her as she cast her eyes away and to the floor._

_“You can also love someone too much.”_

  


* * *

  


The door hissed as it opened, and Dessera was there, tensing and surprised as her eyes tried to find the floor as quickly as they could.

The tattoos were impossible to ignore, the symbol over her entire body that she considered herself tainted. That body recoiled in fear and shame from the simple weight of eyes upon her, until a veneer of potent, venomous standoffishness settled over it like a protective shield.

“What are you doing here?” Dessera asked roughly, though there was little true suspicion in it.

Nescia rolled her eyes. “Oh, _I_ don’t know, maybe I’d actually want to spend Life Day with my sister? You know, to make up for all the ones where I thought you were dead?”

She didn’t like playing that card, didn’t like the way her sister winced with guilt, but it served its purpose. “ _Promise_ you’ll leave if I tell you to?” Dessera pleaded at a dull, but shaking whisper, shy eyes finding a momentary contact.

Nescia sighed.

_No one said this would be easy._

“I promise,” she agreed, the words genuine as the corner of her lips upturned in hope.

Dessera took a breath, seemingly unsure what to do.

“Sit?” Nescia suggested, laying a hand toward the quarter-circle couch at the corner of the room.

Dessera let out a long breath. “Yeah,” she agreed belatedly, and took a seat with her arms crossed. She kept to herself, even shifting an inch away when Nescia tried to settle in close.

“I have something for you,” Nescia attempted to push conversation along, sparing a glance at the chrono on her wrist. “It’s… _wow_ , only a few minutes to midnight…”

_How long was I standing out there?_

“…so, _just_ in time to still be allowed!”

She reached for the holodisc in her jacket, and the moment it was visible, Dessera’s pointedly inattentive eyes widened in recognition.

“That’s…”

“It’s Life day, isn’t it?” Nescia teasingly scolded with a grin.

It had been their tradition, every time. No matter where their flying had taken them, whatever faraway corner of the galaxy they’d been stationed at, that disc, they’d always brought with them. A forgotten holiday classic, not remotely considered a seasonal staple to the larger galaxy, but it had always been both of their favorite, regardless.

Nescia had watched the film three times now, since the crash. The first time, she’d cried alone, the second, she’d cried with Ibri and Oze, and now on the third, she’d been spared her tears of any cause but the intended emotion in the film itself… plus a few that had lingered in remembrance of the other two occasions.

She wasn’t going to tell Dess all that, though. Dess had _enough_ guilt to wallow in. It was getting to be a problem, really…

“It was always ours,” Nescia continued instead. “I held on to it for a while but, now it can be both of ours again, so…” she smiled proudly. “It’s a half present! See, it’s within the rules!”

“Oh,” was Dessera’s only contribution for a long while. She closed her eyes and tensed sadly while her sister set up the holo. “Are you… are you _sure_ you really want me to watch that with you?”

Nescia sighed. “Dess, you’re… you’re _alive_. I thought you were _dead_ , for so, _so_ long, and you’re not!”

“I’m also the _reason_ you thought I was dead in the first place.”

“…Okay, you’re right, maybe it did take losing you, for me to be okay with getting you back like _this_ , but the point is, it _shouldn’t have_.”

Seeming startled for a moment, and pained from Nescia’s forceful declaration, Dessera shook her head. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I know I don’t have to, but I _want_ to.”

At Nescia’s teasing smile, Dessera’s sigh was rasping and infernal. “You… this can’t possibly be comfortable, you know what I’m—”

Nescia inhaled deeply. “Dessera… THE. ONLY. THING. I. AM. WORRIED. ABOUT… is whether anything I’m saying or doing might be belittling your feelings.”

Dessera had to turn at that, a shocked and confused glare in narrowed eyes that tried, but failed to be combative. There was a long moment where Nescia simply smiled, sadness and doubt and an apology of her own filling her uncertain gaze in equal measure.

“I never gave you an actual _answer_ , did I?"

Dess had to process the question for a few confused seconds, then balked in disbelief. “I don’t need an answer! I never even _wanted_ an answer! I—”

“It’s _no_ , to be clear,” Nescia interrupted, with an arched eyebrow and a bit of a melancholy grin. “No, I… _don’t_ return your feelings, Dess, and I know that sucks. I know that… _hurts_ , and that it’s real.”

At her sister’s wary silence, Nescia sighed again, guiltily.

“I’ve realized it… probably seems like I’m… pretending things can just go back to the way they were between us, that the way you feel doesn’t have to matter, and I’m _sorry_ , because I know it does. I know things _are_ different now, and I’m willing to accept that, because I _still want you in my life_ , Dess, and if… if being around me, being close to me, is hurting you, because it’s stopping you from moving on, then that’s something you _need to tell me_. But I’m serious, that’s my _only worry_. I trust you, and I care about you, and you can talk to me about anything, even if it’s weird.”

She shoved her sister’s shoulder with a smile, but it quickly became an assuring, steadying touch and a frown of offered concern.

“Be honest with me, Dess. Do _you_ need space? Is this too much, for _you?_ Because you’re still my family, I _choose_ you as my family, and I’ll always want to be close with you, but only as long as _you’re_ actually okay with it.”

Dessera struggled, warring with less uncertainty than she was disbelief. “No, I… that’s not… I’ll be fine, I think,” she assured, showing Ness the closest thing to a smile she had, now, in over a week. “It was… never about that, I… _yes_ , I want—”

She paused, struck into a shameful stillness, and Nescia leveled an exasperated, knowing stare.

“I promise, I will not read into _every single thing you say_.”

Dess shot her a _look_ , but settled with a sigh. “I want this,” she admitted with a slight gulp. “I… want this to work, _us_ … if you can really… still stand the sight of me.”

Ness smiled and rolled her eyes all at once. “There is literally no reason to be that dramatic anymore, but I’ll take the win.”

  


* * *

  


_Mission hesitated._

_For very nearly a full, entire second._

_“I’m still not seeing the part where ANY OF THAT is your fault.”_

_Dessera tensed and shook, blanking and scowling in instinctual offense as she attempted to process the weight and pressure of arms around her. “Wha… what are you doing?”_

_“I am hugging you, you IDIOT, because clearly you need it!”_

  


* * *

  


Still shaking her head at the words, Nescia gave Dessera a judging, grinning side-eye, one that persisted to an intentionally annoying degree until Dess couldn’t help but smile – a real one this time. And no, that second layer of tattoos still couldn’t hide her sister’s smile. “I missed you,” she voiced aloud, a little absently.

“I miss—” Dess’s smile faded in an instant.

Ness rolled her eyes for the ninety-millionth time. “What did I _just_ say?”

Dessera scowled warningly, but relented with a sigh. “I missed you.”

“Oh, I _know_ you did…”

It took a second to register, but at fully taking in the sly grin, Dess’s jaw was on the floor with betrayal. “What the FUCK, Ness?”

“Last one, promise.” Ness winked.

“You’re seriously… _joking_ about…”

Nescia lay back with her hands crossed behind her head, eyeing the ceiling. “I _am_ familiar with the effect I tend to have on people. You’re not the _first_ person I’ve had to turn do—" A pillow from the couch slapped her across the face.

“You’re _impossible_.”

“It is fully within my rights to tease you about your crushes.”

“When they’re on _other people_.”

“Pretty sure that’s not written down anywhere.”

Dess’s pout was fierce, but after a few more breaths she sighed a faint laugh, a hand held to her face. “What the fuck. What the actual fuck have I gotten myself into?”

“Hey, you’re the one who agreed to it, remember? No takebacks.”

Dessera lowered her hand, as she settled, half-stunned, to quiet recognition. There was one passing moment where she tensed again, and grimaced as if screaming inside, for all the pain and hardship she’d brought upon herself for so little, but it was soothed away by Nescia’s own, shivering chill – all the words that _could_ have been said, the hurt inflicted, if things had been any different. They’d made it to here and now, and that was what mattered, they both seemed to realize without words.

Nescia shifted closer, and her sister was cautious, but didn’t pull away this time. “Do you think… it would be alright if I hugged you?”

Dess was still, and a few more breaths passed before she answered in a whisper. “I… think so, yeah.”

Ness threw an arm lightly over her sister’s shoulders, settling in with friendly warmth all while Dess kept herself frozen like a statue. Ness pressed play on the movie, then let her now-free hand return to take her sister’s.

She snuck an awkward-angle glance at her wrist chrono, and smiled, looking back up at her sister with a grin. “Happy Life Day, Dess.”

And then, as the opening credits shone multicolored light on them both, Nescia had to wonder, yet again, whether the dagger-lines on Dessera’s face were intentionally placed right along the paths where her tears fell, or whether this time was also a coincidence. Her sister’s reply was quiet and pained, but bled through with the weight of years-buried emotion.

“…Happy Life Day, Ness.”


End file.
